


AssCreed Ficlets

by MidnightMinx90



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightMinx90/pseuds/MidnightMinx90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This here'll be various AssCreed ficlets that may or may not have a connection to my other AssCreed fics, but don't belong anywhere in particular</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Not to Think About When Scaling a Skyscraper

"Fuck you Shaun, " Desmond said, feeling rather nervous as he scaled the skyscraper, trying not to think about the fact Shaun had just mentioned; that if he made one wrong step, everything would be over.   
"I thought that was your job," came the snarky reply from the Brit, causing William to glare at him. Desmond could envision the glare; he knew his dad well enough for that.   
A quick exclamation of "Shaun!" from Rebecca came right after, and was another thing Desmond knew was coming.   
He couldn't help but smile though, and sincerely hoped he'd get through this ordeal in once piece and without any bruises or sores of any kind.  
When they got back to the Temple, Desmond would insert the battery he was on his way to pick up now, and then drag Shaun with him to explore the cave, so they could find a place they could be alone.

Outside wasn't safe. They couldn't stay in the van, and certainly not out amongst the trees.  
Although they had dared out there the first night, after Rebecca and William had gone to sleep.   
Desmond had just wanted to feel the grass under his bare feet, had wanted to draw in the sharp, fresh air of nature. It had been cold, but he hadn't cared, not when this was something he had denied himself for so many years, and with the end of everything being this close, he dared to take a few minutes outside, just to rejoice in something he so long had taken for granted.  
Shaun had come with him, to be sure, and to have some fresh air for himself. 

When Desmond had started shaking, Shaun had put his arms around him, stroking up and down his back. It had started out innocent, with Desmond bending slightly down to capture the Brit's mouth with his own, needing the warmth and to let him know how much he appreciated him being there.   
But the innocent gratefulness soon turned into something else.   
Short, sweet kisses soon became needy, sloppy, open-mouthed ones, and hand that at first had stroked to give warmth turned into wandering hand which tore at clothes and hair and caressed bodies.

Breaths had become laboured and clothes which at first had been needed to keep warmth had been thrown aside to be replaced with another kind of warmth.  
Grass cold in the night air with drops from the rain earlier that day had sent shivers along the bodies of the assassins when they had lain down, but neither had cared.  
Blood had pumping through veins, hearts pounding, the only sounds of their ragged breath, as the animals and birds had gone to sleep; not even the soft hooting from an owl had been heard. 

Fear, love and lust had been the fuel that had driven them – neither man caring about such trivial things as condoms and lube.   
Their need for one another had overshadowed anything and everything else, leaving the two men with their most basic and primal needs.   
Bodies had moved with and against one another, cocks sliding together, between the hands of both men, as tongues had battled for dominion.  
Both had been aware that they had very little time and that they shouldn't have been out there, but the fear and only turned them on even more. 

The historian had done his best not to hurt the ex-bartender, but at the time, the ex-bartender wouldn't have minded in the historian had been rough. The rush had driven Shaun to use less time than he would have normally used to prepare Desmond, but because of the rush, he had realised he probably wouldn't have lasted long enough if he had.  
Besides, having Desmond writhing under him and begging him to be fucked, had not exactly helped.

So Shaun had obliged his lover, of course he had. Who was he to deny him the pleasure anyways? 

And it had been such a relief for Shaun, to finally feel that body, alive, well and responding to his ministrations.  
He had feared he'd lost Desmond in the vault under Colosseum, and each hour from then until Desmond had woken up again, Shaun had been scared. 

The lack of lube and a condom had provided more friction than they had though, and both men had come closer to release than they had believed.   
The Brit had felt the warmth pool in his stomach just before the American had moaned out his name just so, in the way he always had when he was close.  
So Shaun had taken Desmond's cock in his hand, and he'd pumped it to the rhythm of their bodies moving together.  
It hadn't taken long however for his hips to stutter and lose their rhythm, as he had felt himself get closer and closer to release, before he – with a change of angle, hit Desmond's prostrate just so, making Desmond's arse clamp around his cock.   
Shaun came hard within Desmond, a mere second before Desmond himself came, due to Shaun hitting him just right, and the pressure around his own cock. 

"DESMOND!"  
"What?!"  
"Son, what was that? We thought we'd lost you there." William sounded worried, and a bit mad.  
"What d'you mean dad?"  
"You just stopped moving and stopped speaking. You just stood there, staring into nothing, and we only knew that because of the camera."  
"Was it the Bleeding Effect?" was Shaun's worried question.   
"No. Nothin' like that. Sorry guys, won't happen again." Desmond heard himself that his voice sounded a bit off, but hoped the others wouldn't pick up on it.   
"Son, why do you sound so embarrassed? What was going through your head?" Damn…  
"Dad, trust me, you don't wanna know."


	2. AltMal: Rainy Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr reflects on rainy mornings
> 
>  
> 
> [EDIT 15.03.2014: NOW WITH FANART ](http://uccan.deviantart.com/art/Altmal-Request-Dump-2-nsfw-442540453)

Altaïr likes the rainy days, the mornings especially.  
They allow him to stay in bed just a little longer, and there’s nothing quite like the steady sound of raindrops hitting the world outside, especially when combined with the steady breathing of the man next to him.

Altaïr always wakes up a little earlier on those rainy mornings; it’s almost like his subconsiousness hears it in his sleeping state and wakes him up, just so he can listen, just so he can stay awake a bit longer and just listen.

Altaïr is never as relaxed as during those prescious moments.  
His days are filled with work, with training, with missions, with other people.  
But the rainy mornings offers him peace for just a little while longer.  
Offers him time with Malik for just a little while longer.

“Malik.”  
The name slips easily of his tongue, a loving caress he himself can barely hear over the steady sound of water from outside.

And yet Malik hears it.  
Maybe the sound of his name coming from Altaïr’s mouth is the same as the rain for Altaïr, maybe he will always hear it and wake to it.

It is almost like it’s on another level, a deeper, more personal level that has nothing to do with sound.

Malik turns towards Altaïr and opens his eyes.  
In them, Altaïr can see sleepyness, comfort and love.  
A small smile pulls at his lips, as he leans in to kiss Malik, knowing the same look is in his own eyes.

Yes, Altaïr loves rainy mornings.


	3. And Then You Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for ACIV: Black Flag for those who haven't played it.
> 
> \---
> 
> There's something familiar about the barista and courier, but you can't place it

You feel a pang of heartache as the voices of the barista and courier travels towards you.  
And when you lay eyes on them, it hurts even more.

You cannot remember them, not exactly, but there is something about their looks, their voices that makes you believe you’ve seen them before.

Shaun and Rebecca. You test the sound of their names by pronouncing them, softly, to yourself as you return to your workstation.

They haunt your dreams and your thoughts. Shaun specifically. You make sure to stop by his station every day.  
You try out the coffee, but finds the man cannot make a decent cup.  
So you buy tea the other days, wondering how someone who makes great tea but lousy coffee got a job as a barista.

You want to talk to him, but whatever you try to say, you always get short answers.  
So you give up conversation.

You show up at the same time every day, and finds your regular cup of tea waiting for you.  
You smile at him, thanks him, says his name for the first time.

Some emotion flickers in his eyes, there then gone.   
You wonder why he looks so sad, and you want to ask him.

But you don’t.

You take breaks more often than you did in the beginning, and take the elevaror to the lobby.  
You don’t buy something every time, but you walk around, pretending you’re just stretching your legs.

He knows better, but you don’t know that.

The sadness is frequent in his eyes when no one is looking.  
And those sad eyes follow you around the room, often accompanied by worry.

In time, you feel you start to remember things, though you are not sure they are actually your memories.

But then you look at him, and you can feel those hands caress you as your vision blurs and the glass and steel and plants fade away and becomes ancient walls of stone instead.

The hairs on your arms and back of your neck rises as you feel the cold air wrap around you.

Do you really feel it, you wonder. Do you remember it?

In your dreams you feel rough walls against your back and a wet mouth on your own.  
And when you awake, sweating, you wonder why you are dreaming these things.

You look at him, trying to find out why he seems familiar and why you dream about him.

You start to think that you once loved him. Not someone /like/ him, but him.

Maybe that is why you so clearly can see the sadness in him, because the man in front of you is someone you loved, but have forgotten about.

You say his name in a soft whisper that sounds more like a caress than anything.

And you finally understand.


End file.
